Sometimes recovery is hard. If you've followed my blog at all, you'll recognize that I've made this point several times before. Life can throw all manner of stresses at you, and it can be tough to fend them off in a healthy way. When I feel shaky, I like to make a list of all the joys my recovery has provided me. It's an excellent affirmation exercise. Below is today's list:
An incredible, smart, funny, sweet husband who not only accepts my many quirks, but loves me even more for them.
A six-year old son who tells me - unprompted and on a regular basis - that he loves me.
A four-year old son who insists that when he grows up he's going to marry me, because I am "the best lady there is."
A two-year old daughter who twirls and sings and giggles and smiles the day away, simply happy to be alive.
Friends who make me laugh until I pee a little.
A strong, wonderful relationship with my mother and sister.
Education in a field that will allow me to help people every single day.
A church filled with inspiring, supportive, amazing people who reaffirm my faith in God and humanity.
Wine.
Greek food, Italian food, Mexican food, Chinese food, French food, bar food... you get the idea.
A sense of deep respect for my body. Not only did it survive the years of abuse I put it through, it also grew and nourished three miraculous little people.
There's today's list. Tomorrow's will be different, and may include the sharply blue sky, the crisp Spring air, the excitement of my dog when I walk in the door, even if I was just outside for a moment to get the newspaper. There are so many, many things in life to appreciate when you're seeing through the lens of recovery.
Live to love, love to live!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
It's Okay.
It's okay to feel scared.
It's okay to get angry.
It's okay to cry.
It's okay to admit that you're struggling.
It's okay to say, "I need help."
It's okay. And if it's not okay right now, it will be soon.
It's okay to get angry.
It's okay to cry.
It's okay to admit that you're struggling.
It's okay to say, "I need help."
It's okay. And if it's not okay right now, it will be soon.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Temptation
I wish I could break all the mirrors in the world. Throw away all of the scales. Get rid of all the clothes in my closet that are too small, but I keep "just in case." Abolish skinny chicks from TV and magazines. Escape the diet food aisle in the grocery store. Live in a world free of temptation.
Unfortunately, I can't do any of those things. So I fight. Every day. Rail against the voice in my head, try to convince myself that who I am and how I look is okay.
I fight. Every day.
Unfortunately, I can't do any of those things. So I fight. Every day. Rail against the voice in my head, try to convince myself that who I am and how I look is okay.
I fight. Every day.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Truer Words Were Never Spoken
"I want to be superwoman, and the fact that I'm not makes me hate myself and constantly wonder why I'm such a waste." -Marya Hornbacher, from "Madness"
How many of us have felt that way? Many people are overachievers. Many people routinely take on more than they can handle. But there are some of us whose pattern of taking on the world then being crushed under its weight is pathological. It's what we DO. It's who we ARE.
This is one of the things with which I still struggle daily. I have an innate need to prove to myself how smart! talented! wonderful! irreplaceable! PERFECT! I am. The fact that nobody is perfect is not lost on me. But somehow I can't shake the feeling that it's my respobsibility to break the mold. Like, if I can't be perfect, then why bother at all?
It's important for me to share this for two reasons. First, because I want to show that I am not infallible. My recovery is not without flaws, weak points. Second, I need to remind myself that perfection is not a reasonable goal. I can only try to be the best person, the best wife and mother and daughter and sister and friend and human being, that I can be. And I have to trust that that's enough.
How many of us have felt that way? Many people are overachievers. Many people routinely take on more than they can handle. But there are some of us whose pattern of taking on the world then being crushed under its weight is pathological. It's what we DO. It's who we ARE.
This is one of the things with which I still struggle daily. I have an innate need to prove to myself how smart! talented! wonderful! irreplaceable! PERFECT! I am. The fact that nobody is perfect is not lost on me. But somehow I can't shake the feeling that it's my respobsibility to break the mold. Like, if I can't be perfect, then why bother at all?
It's important for me to share this for two reasons. First, because I want to show that I am not infallible. My recovery is not without flaws, weak points. Second, I need to remind myself that perfection is not a reasonable goal. I can only try to be the best person, the best wife and mother and daughter and sister and friend and human being, that I can be. And I have to trust that that's enough.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Devastation
About four years ago I watched the HBO documentary "Thin." It followed four women as they struggled with their eating disorders at Renfrew, a very well-known treatment center in Florida. The film is extremely well done, capturing the reality of life with ED's as few other movies have. A warning: the movie can be extremely triggering. I strongly discourage anyone who may be shaky in her recovery to avoid watching. There is a lot of ED imagery, and the raw emotion shown by the women is very disturbing. That being said, for anyone interested in seeing what the beginning of the recovery process is really like, I recommend "Thin."
One of the things that bonded me to the film so much was the recognition of myself in the women featured. Their fear, their anxiety, their sense of chaos/control, their manipulation of others, their reluctance to let go. The population at large has a tendency to think anorexia and bulimia are either "phases" girls go through, or that they're just manifestations of neurosis, or - worst of all - they're simply attention-getting ploys. Make no mistake; eating disorders are DISEASES, as real as any cancer, and potentially as devastating. Those of us who have been trapped in that hell know how isolating, how frustrating, how anguishing it is. Wanting desperately to be understood, to be helped, but at the same time being terrified of letting people in, relinquishing control.
I found out today that Polly, one of the women whose lives were shown in "Thin," died from an intentional drug overdose a couple years after the movie was released. Here are a couple statistics for you: Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. A study by the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders reported that 5 – 10% of anorexics die within 10 years after contracting the disease; 18-20% of anorexics will be dead after 20 years and only 30 – 40% ever fully recover. The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate of ALL causes of death for females 15 – 24 years old. 20% of people suffering from anorexia will prematurely die from complications related to their eating disorder, including suicide and heart problems. About 80% of the girls/women who have accessed care for their eating disorders do not get the intensity of treatment they need to stay in recovery – they are often sent home weeks earlier than the recommended stay. Horrible, isn't it?
I personally know three women who have died from anorexia/bulimia. Jenn, an anorexic woman whom I met in my first stint in treatment. She was in her early 30's, beautiful, tall, with gorgeous blonde curly hair. Her husband was a doll. She was released from treatment in May of 2002. She organized a "homecoming party," to be held at her house, for all of us who had been in treatment together. She died of a heart attack the day before the party.
Bonnie, another woman I met in my first treatment center. She was in her 40's, bulimic and an ipecac-abuser. She was a licensed social worker, one of the kindest women I've ever met. As a child she had suffered horrible, unspeakable abuse at the hands of her parents. During the time I knew her, she was still living with her mother, caring for the woman who had tormented her for her entire life. Bonnie died of a heart attack at age 44, the year after I had met her.
Val, a former principal dancer for the New York City Ballet. I met her during my third in-patient treatment. She was in her early 40's, but looked like she was in her 60's. She spoke of the culture of anorexia that was present in the professional ballet. She said she hadn't eaten normally since she was a child. She had to retire from dancing prematurely because she was diagnosed with osteoporosis at 28 years old. Val died of heart failure shortly after I was released from treatment, in February of 2003.
I HATE THIS DISEASE. It is a life-stealer. It robs people of their emotional lives, their relationships, their spirituality, and too often their physical lives. The relapse rate is appallingly high. The recovery rate is dismally low. The access to treatment is shameful. Our society is much to passive in its reaction. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE! But what?
One of the things that bonded me to the film so much was the recognition of myself in the women featured. Their fear, their anxiety, their sense of chaos/control, their manipulation of others, their reluctance to let go. The population at large has a tendency to think anorexia and bulimia are either "phases" girls go through, or that they're just manifestations of neurosis, or - worst of all - they're simply attention-getting ploys. Make no mistake; eating disorders are DISEASES, as real as any cancer, and potentially as devastating. Those of us who have been trapped in that hell know how isolating, how frustrating, how anguishing it is. Wanting desperately to be understood, to be helped, but at the same time being terrified of letting people in, relinquishing control.
I found out today that Polly, one of the women whose lives were shown in "Thin," died from an intentional drug overdose a couple years after the movie was released. Here are a couple statistics for you: Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. A study by the National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders reported that 5 – 10% of anorexics die within 10 years after contracting the disease; 18-20% of anorexics will be dead after 20 years and only 30 – 40% ever fully recover. The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate of ALL causes of death for females 15 – 24 years old. 20% of people suffering from anorexia will prematurely die from complications related to their eating disorder, including suicide and heart problems. About 80% of the girls/women who have accessed care for their eating disorders do not get the intensity of treatment they need to stay in recovery – they are often sent home weeks earlier than the recommended stay. Horrible, isn't it?
I personally know three women who have died from anorexia/bulimia. Jenn, an anorexic woman whom I met in my first stint in treatment. She was in her early 30's, beautiful, tall, with gorgeous blonde curly hair. Her husband was a doll. She was released from treatment in May of 2002. She organized a "homecoming party," to be held at her house, for all of us who had been in treatment together. She died of a heart attack the day before the party.
Bonnie, another woman I met in my first treatment center. She was in her 40's, bulimic and an ipecac-abuser. She was a licensed social worker, one of the kindest women I've ever met. As a child she had suffered horrible, unspeakable abuse at the hands of her parents. During the time I knew her, she was still living with her mother, caring for the woman who had tormented her for her entire life. Bonnie died of a heart attack at age 44, the year after I had met her.
Val, a former principal dancer for the New York City Ballet. I met her during my third in-patient treatment. She was in her early 40's, but looked like she was in her 60's. She spoke of the culture of anorexia that was present in the professional ballet. She said she hadn't eaten normally since she was a child. She had to retire from dancing prematurely because she was diagnosed with osteoporosis at 28 years old. Val died of heart failure shortly after I was released from treatment, in February of 2003.
I HATE THIS DISEASE. It is a life-stealer. It robs people of their emotional lives, their relationships, their spirituality, and too often their physical lives. The relapse rate is appallingly high. The recovery rate is dismally low. The access to treatment is shameful. Our society is much to passive in its reaction. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE! But what?
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
That's A Good Question
Last week I gave six speeches about my life to sophomores at a nearby high school. The process had begun about six months earlier, when a dear old friend (who knew me at my worst) connected me with a wonderful gal interested in sharing my story. She worked with me to develop my life into a narrative form, then whittle it into something striking, attention-grabbing, reality-checking. The process was long and at times difficult. When you've come as far as I have, it can be difficult to wade through the pain of the past. However, by the time I was ready to speak, I had owned my story. I was proud of my progress and so humbled to be able to share my journey with others.
The experience of speaking was a unique one for me. I have no formal education in public speaking, nor any familiarity whatsoever. I am actually quite shy, although I deal with my shyness by projecting myself out on the world. A very useful skill, I must say. There was something absolutely transforming about standing before a room of 90 16-year olds and commanding their full attention. I had only to speak for a moment before I captured their interest, and I held it for the duration. These kids wanted to hear my story. They became invested in it. They saw themselves in it. Sexual abuse, family drama, eating disorders, insecurity, fear... there was something in my life to which every single kid could relate. I saw that on their faces. It was such a gift to me.
Following my story was a Q&A. These kids didn't hold back! They asked me loads of questions, many I answered and some (what was your lowest weight? how did you try to kill yourself?) I did not. But the question that came up most often, and was most impressive and thought-provoking to me, was this: "Why an eating disorder? Why not drugs or alcohol?" (And, as one young lad phrased it, "Why didn't you just smoke weed?")
What an excellent question. Why anorexia and bulimia, and not some other tool of self-medication and self-destruction? I could have abused any drug I chose - I surely had access. Alcohol was commonplace and there for the taking. So why not? My go-to answer has always been that I sought to control my life, and drugs and alcohol gave me a distinct feeling of being out of control. I wanted total power over my thoughts, feelings, and actions, and substances would have prevented me from that. The more I thought about it, though, the deeper I realized it went.
Drugs and alcohol. For as far back as I can remember, I saw them as bad, bad things. Maybe all of those "Just Say No" ads really did work. Or maybe I recognized, even at a young age, that I was unwilling to relinquish myself to anything. Control over my life had been taken from me on numerous occasions, and I absolutely would NOT give it up willingly. Why do people turn to drugs and alcohol? To escape. To get away from their problems. Why did I turn to anorexia and bulimia? To escape. To get away from my problems. So yes, it's a good question.
I have long pointed out the similarities between eating disorders and addiction. Not only the high rate of relapse, the lack of positive coping skills, and the tendency for co-dependency in the family, but also for the root causes: abuse, mental illness in the family, lack of stability. At the end of the day, I starved myself for the same reasons a heroin addict shoots up; I binged and purged for the same reasons an alcoholic goes on a bender. I wanted to make the bad stuff go away.
We all go through things we shouldn't, have to deal with things with which we aren't equipped to deal. We all try to make the bad stuff go away. But instead of food, or the lack of food, or drugs, or alcohol, maybe we should seek out each other. Maybe we should lean on each other, talk to each other, listen to each other. As different as we may be, chances are good we're also very much the same.
The experience of speaking was a unique one for me. I have no formal education in public speaking, nor any familiarity whatsoever. I am actually quite shy, although I deal with my shyness by projecting myself out on the world. A very useful skill, I must say. There was something absolutely transforming about standing before a room of 90 16-year olds and commanding their full attention. I had only to speak for a moment before I captured their interest, and I held it for the duration. These kids wanted to hear my story. They became invested in it. They saw themselves in it. Sexual abuse, family drama, eating disorders, insecurity, fear... there was something in my life to which every single kid could relate. I saw that on their faces. It was such a gift to me.
Following my story was a Q&A. These kids didn't hold back! They asked me loads of questions, many I answered and some (what was your lowest weight? how did you try to kill yourself?) I did not. But the question that came up most often, and was most impressive and thought-provoking to me, was this: "Why an eating disorder? Why not drugs or alcohol?" (And, as one young lad phrased it, "Why didn't you just smoke weed?")
What an excellent question. Why anorexia and bulimia, and not some other tool of self-medication and self-destruction? I could have abused any drug I chose - I surely had access. Alcohol was commonplace and there for the taking. So why not? My go-to answer has always been that I sought to control my life, and drugs and alcohol gave me a distinct feeling of being out of control. I wanted total power over my thoughts, feelings, and actions, and substances would have prevented me from that. The more I thought about it, though, the deeper I realized it went.
Drugs and alcohol. For as far back as I can remember, I saw them as bad, bad things. Maybe all of those "Just Say No" ads really did work. Or maybe I recognized, even at a young age, that I was unwilling to relinquish myself to anything. Control over my life had been taken from me on numerous occasions, and I absolutely would NOT give it up willingly. Why do people turn to drugs and alcohol? To escape. To get away from their problems. Why did I turn to anorexia and bulimia? To escape. To get away from my problems. So yes, it's a good question.
I have long pointed out the similarities between eating disorders and addiction. Not only the high rate of relapse, the lack of positive coping skills, and the tendency for co-dependency in the family, but also for the root causes: abuse, mental illness in the family, lack of stability. At the end of the day, I starved myself for the same reasons a heroin addict shoots up; I binged and purged for the same reasons an alcoholic goes on a bender. I wanted to make the bad stuff go away.
We all go through things we shouldn't, have to deal with things with which we aren't equipped to deal. We all try to make the bad stuff go away. But instead of food, or the lack of food, or drugs, or alcohol, maybe we should seek out each other. Maybe we should lean on each other, talk to each other, listen to each other. As different as we may be, chances are good we're also very much the same.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The Definition of Insanity
As Albert Einstein famously quoted, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." I'm struck by how much this applies to the recovery-relapse-recovery cycle.
Recovery is tough. It's a fight. Frankly, it's easier to be sick. Miserable, self-defeating, and dangerous, but easier. The longer a person is ill before entering recovery, the higher the likelihood of eventual relapse. This is a maddening statistic for those of us set on a future of happiness.
My eating disorder has gone through varying degrees of intensity. I have gone from "functioning anorexic" to "near-dead bulimic" to "symptom-free picture of health." It's a roller coaster. The hardest thing to grapple with is that the eating disorder is ALWAYS our default response to stress. We have learned to cope differently, more constructively, in healthful ways... but the stress will always remain. It's part of the human condition.
The biggest challenge to a recovering anorexic/bulimic person is resisting the temptation to revert to old behaviors in times of stress. There's this pervasive thought: "Just this once. It'll make me feel better. I need it." I imagine it's the same thought a recovering alcoholic or drug addict considers. It's that proverbial devil on your shoulder, whispering promises. It can be incredibly hard to stand firm. The most effective method I have found is to talk right back to that voice. Out loud, if necessary. "No, this will NOT make me feel better. In fact, this will make things a million times worse than they already are. It only takes one slip to fall down flat." It seems a little silly, but it works.
Let's remind ourselves not to do the same things over and over and expect different results. Let's try something new, as difficult as it may be. The payoff is happiness.
Recovery is tough. It's a fight. Frankly, it's easier to be sick. Miserable, self-defeating, and dangerous, but easier. The longer a person is ill before entering recovery, the higher the likelihood of eventual relapse. This is a maddening statistic for those of us set on a future of happiness.
My eating disorder has gone through varying degrees of intensity. I have gone from "functioning anorexic" to "near-dead bulimic" to "symptom-free picture of health." It's a roller coaster. The hardest thing to grapple with is that the eating disorder is ALWAYS our default response to stress. We have learned to cope differently, more constructively, in healthful ways... but the stress will always remain. It's part of the human condition.
The biggest challenge to a recovering anorexic/bulimic person is resisting the temptation to revert to old behaviors in times of stress. There's this pervasive thought: "Just this once. It'll make me feel better. I need it." I imagine it's the same thought a recovering alcoholic or drug addict considers. It's that proverbial devil on your shoulder, whispering promises. It can be incredibly hard to stand firm. The most effective method I have found is to talk right back to that voice. Out loud, if necessary. "No, this will NOT make me feel better. In fact, this will make things a million times worse than they already are. It only takes one slip to fall down flat." It seems a little silly, but it works.
Let's remind ourselves not to do the same things over and over and expect different results. Let's try something new, as difficult as it may be. The payoff is happiness.
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